The Chronicles of Breed Box Set Read online

  “What is this place?” I asked the imp while not really wanting to know the answer.

  It sat down on the severed, stone head of a demon and drew its knees up to its chin. Its blank stare echoed the enigmatic vacuity of the statue’s gaze.

  “Shallunsard’s Keep.” The imp’s breath curdled the frigid air.

  “What?”

  “Shallunsard’s Keep? The Bright Star of the Morning?”

  I shook my head.

  “The jewel that glitters in the crown of Helel? The Keep of the Bright Star?” It arched a feathery eyebrow, gave me the all-knowing wide eye, as though I should know what it was talking about and be impressed.

  I didn’t, and I wasn’t. “I think you mean was the bright star of wherever. In case you hadn’t noticed, a mountain fell on it.”

  “Ah. Yes. The fall, I remember.”

  “That’s wonderful. Pray, sirrah, d’you also remember the way out? Only I have to be somewhere yesterday.”

  “I do. And I will show you.”

  “Splendid.”

  “For a price.”

  I waved my sword at it, all casual like. “Let me stop you there, shorty. My body and soul are owned by my mother, and she’s one demon I will not cross.”

  It made a sound akin to that of a cat throwing up a hairball. I think it was trying to laugh. “I want nothing so prosaic. I just want you to take me out with you.”

  “You can’t come with me. My mother, who is also my employer, wouldn’t be at all happy if I brought an imp home. She has a strict ‘no pets’ policy.”

  “I have no wish to travel with you, breed. Just take me across the seal.” It wrapped its arms around its legs. “Agree, and you’ll be out of here in a matter of hours. Don’t, and you can spend the rest of your life, short though it may be, lost in these ancient and labyrinthine halls.”

  “Breed?” I laughed. “Am I supposed to be offended? If I am you’ll have to do better than that because I’ve been insulted every day I’ve drawn breath. As for surviving down here, I’ll wager that I’ll last a few days longer if I spit-roast your carcass, arseling.”

  “You think so, eh? the restless dead might have other ideas.”

  I was about to reply with a stinging riposte, but my attention was diverted by the sound of something shuffling behind me. I tilted my head and caught a whiff of deathly decay. Without further prattle, I dropped the torch, pivoted to my right, and rammed my blades into my unfortunate stalker before I’d given much thought as to what or who it might be. I’d apologize later if it was some lost cull looking for directions, but where I come from sneaking up on a person is a declaration of murderous intent. Nobody plays ‘guess who?’ in Appleton, not twice anyway.

  I knew something was wrong the moment I felt my swords bite into something more akin to rawhide than flesh. I have a good working knowledge of human anatomy and knew that if it was a human of average height, both of my blades should have been sticking in a gut, or the transverse colon as quacksalvers name it. There’s a satisfying pressure one encounters when stabbing guts, a comforting suck on the steel. It’s like a warm handshake, one that tells a bloody-handed cove that they’ve hit their mark. I’d hit nothing. My blades hung loose within an empty husk. The knot in my gut tightened another notch.

  “Oh, this isn’t good.”

  While I stood there, goggling at the walking corpse it grabbed me by the throat. I was somewhat perturbed by this and screamed like my arse was on fire until it tightened its grip and choked off my air pipe.

  Shocked into action, I twisted my blades and ripped them through its desiccated body. The death-hardened flesh was tough, but fear lent me an extra measure of strength, and I cut the thing in half. The legs fell away, but the divorce of top from bottom didn’t encourage it to loosen its bony fingers. Choking, I sheathed my blades in its chest, took a firm grip on its hawser taut arms and wrenched the skeletal hands from my throat. Free from its deathless grip, I threw the damned thing to the floor, retrieved my blades, and stomped on its bits until it was nothing more than an inlay of old flesh and bone.

  “Neatly done.” The imp clapped. “As you can see, this place is dangerous, infested with the restless dead and worse. I know how to avoid them, most of them, at least.”

  “I’ve a mind to make you one of the permanent dead for not warning me that thing was behind me.”

  “What do you expect? I’m a demon, I don’t do nice, helpful things, it’s not in my nature.” The smug little snotstain picked a fleck of dry skin from its ragged shirt. “You would also be wasting your time, nothing stays permanently dead down here. This place is cursed.”

  “Of course, it is.” I kicked a sliver of skull across the floor. “Does it flood too? Is the air poisonous? Will blood drinking rabbits attack at midnight?” I sheathed my blades. “Just my luck to be trapped in a fucking dungeon with an irritating, half-sized demon and gods only knows how many walking corpses, and if I don’t get back to Appleton in the next few days it’s open season on my head.”

  The demon chuckled and steepled its fingers. “As they say in the common argot, you’re fucked, unless you agree to my terms, which I have to say are rather generous, considering your predicament. Now, do we have a deal?”

  I sighed. “Very well. Just show me the way out.”

  The demon grinned, displaying a neat row of tiny, needle-sharp fangs. It offered its hand. “Remember, Breed, a deal is a deal. You promise to take me over the seal, alive and well?”

  I didn’t know much about demons, other than what I’d heard in the Nest when some lag wanted to impress their cronies. I recalled something about it being a bad idea to make deals with them, but I didn’t see that I had much choice. I clasped its hand. “Deal.”

  2

  We walked for hours along lavishly carved corridors piled with moldering furniture and heaped with bones. Lots and lots of bones. After trudging along what looked like the same corridor for the second time, I was starting to think that the mad little skunkpizzle was leading me in circles.

  Demon or not, I swore that if it was playing me false, I’d gut the little bastard. My frost burned shoulder ached, and I was running out of time and patience. I was also heartily sick of looking at the endless procession of grim-faced heroes and heroines battling snarling demons.

  Some of the rooms we crept past piqued my professional interest, especially when I spied a glimpse of a chest or the gleam of something shiny winking from the shadows, but my demonic guide insisted that we press on without exploring. Even though I had a sapphire the size of a chicken’s egg tucked into my shirt, it pained me not to steal everything of value that wasn’t nailed down.

  “So, what are you in for?” I asked, bored of listening to my breathing and the wet slap of the imp’s feet against the flagstones.

  It tilted its head to one side and narrowed its eyes. “What are you talking about, Breed?”

  I cleared my throat. “WHY. ARE. YOU. STUCK. IN. HERE? WHY. CAN’T. YOU. LEAVE?”

  It wiped its face and scowled. “A sorcerer imprisoned me, something of an overreaction in my opinion, all because I stole her favorite pen which as I recall was albino peacock, silver nib, very classy.”

  “That’s it? How long have you been here?”

  “I was bound here in the year that Halda the Red Witch and the Hammer of the North united in battle against the Lord of Dawn.”

  “Really? You do know how long ago that was, don’t you?”

  “Seven hundred and sixty-seven years, six months, one week, three days, and nine hours.” It stomped off along the corridor.

  “You’ve aged well, considering.”

  When I got around to bragging about this adventure in the Nest, I’d paint over the image of the ‘small, insane demon’. I would instead claim that my dread companion was seven feet tall, with flaming eyes, wicked horns, and great, leathery wings. I’d also tell my awestruck and fawning audience that I’d cut a far more advantageous deal than just ‘get me out of here’. r />
  We passed more rubble-strewn chambers and the occasional pile of ancient corpses. Clad in rotting armor, the dead lay where they had fallen, names and deeds forgotten, their passing marked by none. And all those purses still hanging from their belts. Sweet salvation, but it was hard overcoming the habit of a lifetime and not filching their chink.

  After a couple more hours of walking in silence, the lightest kiss of fresh air brushed my cheek. I sniffed, caught a hint of ice, pine, and moss. It seemed that my little goblin friend was steering us right after all. I turned to my companion. “So, what’ll you do when you get out? whores and ale, or is it straight back to business for you?” I was feeling much happier now that I knew we were going in the right direction.

  It sighed. “’Tis not a business. A demon’s wyrd, its nature, is written in its blood. I do what I was made to do. ’Tis as strong an imperative as the suns’ need to shine, the rain to fall, the seas to—”

  “All right, I get it. You’re a committed pen thief.”

  Silence fell again, and we continued until we reached a junction. The imp raised its hand, bringing us to a halt. The passageway snaked off to the left. Before us was a pair of impressive double doors. “Which way now?” I asked.

  The imp pointed at the doors. “Through the hall. We’re close now.”

  I believed it, the scent of trees and taste of cold, fresh air oozed under the doors. It was like nectar, and I made to enter the hall, eager to be away. The imp grabbed my arm and pulled me back. It had quite the grip for something so small. “What?” I wrenched my arm from its miser’s grasp. “What is it?”

  “You remember I said I could avoid most of the restless dead?”

  “Urgh.” I handed it the torch and cast a light spell.

  The shimmering globe banished the shadows from the hall, revealing more than a dozen, shriveled corpses lying on a black-and-white tiled floor. The ancient dead were wrapped in dusty, silken shrouds that had been woven by countless generations of spiders. Some of the corpses were human but there were also warspawn like me, as well as demonspawn. All of them were locked in combat when they died. I wondered what calamity had befallen this place to slay them all so suddenly. Skeletal hands tore at bony throats, mouths were open, frozen mid-shout, swords were buried in skulls and chests, fists were raised in short-lived triumph. I didn’t care what had killed them, I just hoped that the demonspawn with four arms and tusks like longswords was permanently dead.

  Despite the silvery radiance of the magical light, the furthest corners of the chamber remained cloaked in shadows. To my right, an obsidian throne stood brooding atop a raised dais. I half turned to speak to the imp when something on the throne caught my eye. Curious, I directed the light over to it. There was a sword lying across the armrests, not of itself particularly interesting, a sword was a sword, this one was interesting because it glittered.

  The imp tugged my sleeve. “The surest way to traverse the hall without waking these poor souls is…”

  I stopped listening. The sword, the lovely glittering sword had captured my full attention. The hilt sparkled like frost in the moonlight. As vulgar as it was valuable, the whole of the hilt was encrusted with diamonds, an irresistible lure for a rogue like me. Before I could stop myself, I was halfway across the room, my eyes locked on the twinkling prize. It was at this point that the restless dead distinguished themselves from the permanently departed.

  When I’d finished the last of them and the clamor of battle had stopped ringing in my ears, I sheathed my blades and drew a deep breath. The imp was rolling around on the floor, laughing its skinny little arse off.

  “What are you laughing at, you little bubo?” I was tired but had sustained nothing more painful than a scratch on my leg during the scrap. The dead might have been restless, but they were a slow lot.

  The imp’s raucous laughter dwindled to a giggle. “I have never seen something that wasn’t under the influence of a powerful geas act so recklessly.” It shook its head. “Thy wyrd is greed, halfling.”

  I snatched a verdigrised coin from the floor and threw it at the demon. “Here you go. When we get out, find yourself a nice inn and buy a big, frothy pint of fuck off, on me.” Chuckling, it plucked the coin from the air and then idly toed a skull into the shadows. A moment later, the braincase skittered back towards us, this time accompanied by the dry clatter of bones.

  “You missed one,” the imp sang.

  “Why did you do that?” I sighed and drew my blades, again.

  “Demon.” It shrugged and settled its arse on the dais.

  The restless dead lurched from the shadows. Creaking muscles worked its rotting jaw as though it was trying to speak or shout a battle cry, but all I could hear was the sound of its teeth grinding.

  The bag of bones was wearing the remains of ancient plate armor and wielding a longsword. It wove its blade in a loop before launching an overhead blow at me. It was fast for a corpse but nowhere near fast enough to catch me. When it was committed to the swing, I pivoted on my left foot and scythed my blades through its neck and torso. The head flew backwards and rolled into the shadows while the torso folded beneath the sternum. I sheathed my weapons with emphasis and swept onto the dais without so much as glancing at the goblin.

  The throne was carved from cloudy obsidian and decorated with a writhing mass of dragons. The stone alone was incredibly valuable but the whole thing was far too big and heavy to move. The sword, however, was an entirely portable proposition. The blade was double-edged, deeply fullered and tapered to a fine, diamond-cut point. The pommel and crossguards were covered with glittering, white-blue stones. Time had been kind to the gaudy weapon and the steel was unblemished. I picked it up, gave it a swing. It was perfectly balanced and sang through the air.

  “Do you see how it’s been forged?” the imp asked. “The metal is rare, Stellaris Metallium only sorcerers can work it. The Shen call it star steel because of the way the crystals shine like stars in the night sky.”

  While the imp prattled on, I took a firm, two-handed grip of the hilt and smashed the blade against the arm of the throne. There was a loud crack and the steel snapped neatly just below the rain guard. I let the now useless blade lie where it fell and stuffed the hilt into my tunic. As I turned to leave, I saw that the imp was staring at me, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

  “What?” I asked.

  “That was Dawnslight, the greatest sword of the age. It, it was priceless.” The little rat-dropping scuttled over to the broken blade, picked it up and cradled it like it was a sleeping babe, before gently placing what was left of it back on the throne.

  “I know it’s priceless, that’s why I broke it up. I mean, where in the Empire d’you think a breed like me could fence such a relic?” I laughed. “If I turned up waving a great, shiny pig-sticker like that and tried to sell it, I’d either end up doing the gallows jig or be vented by one of the Guild before I’d seen a penny of its value. Now, loose stones I can fence. Sell a few at a time so as not to draw attention to myself and I could keep the wolf from the door for many a month on the proceeds. Anyway, what’s it matter to you? It’s a sword, not a pen.”

  The imp didn’t answer. It wandered out of the hall with its head bowed.

  After a few hundred feet, the passage widened. Decapitated statues stood either side of a gaping wound where I assumed the outer doors must have once been. A cold wind greeted us, carrying with it a hundred mundane smells and tastes that I never thought I’d miss so much. Beyond the ragged arch, the rose-infused glow of the setting suns melted into the dark line of the horizon. I ran outside, opened my arms, and drank in a lungful of the racing air.

  I was standing on the ravaged lip of a cobblestone promontory that ended abruptly some fifteen feet from the entrance. Below, a bare slope stretched about fifty feet before giving way to a broad sweep of pines that flowed into the vast, green sea that was the Arrak Basin. On the far side of the forest was Appleton, my hometown. A thick pall of smoke from the calthracite
burners marbled a patch of sky, marking its location. I turned to my companion who was lurking nervously in the shadows of the entrance.

  “I need you to take me over the seal,” it whispered. It didn’t look me in the eye, instead its gaze flitted nervously from one foot to the other as it shuffled from side to side.

  “Oh, right, the deal.” I went over.

  It held out its hand. I saw it was shaking, could smell the acid tang of fear and apprehension rising off its diminutive body. I picked it up and carried it into the sunslight.

  “Put me down, stupid breed,” it squeaked, kicking feebly against me.

  Laughing, I put it down on the other side of the large steel ring that was set in the cobbles by the doorway. I guessed this was ‘the seal’ because of the arcane scribbles incised in the metal rim.

  “Oh,” it said surprised.

  “The words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’,” I said and went back over to the edge of the plateau to plot my route down. It was steep but not a difficult climb. The imp was silent. I guessed it was embarrassed for having misjudged me.

  This wasn’t the first time I’d been wrong about something important.

  As ever when something went awry, my body was quicker to react than my brain, so when I heard the soft implosion of air followed by a wave of heat and sulfur, I didn’t spring into action and draw my blades. I turned around but before I had chance to raise my hands in the universal sign for ‘I surrender, don’t hit me’, I was grabbed by the throat and hoisted off my feet.

  The demon was over seven feet tall and naked but for a few shreds of cloth clinging to the bony scales that jutted from his dead white shoulders. He had long, curving horns like those of a massive ram, and fine, sharp features. He flexed his shoulders and a pair of black, leathery wings unfurled. The only thing that hadn’t changed were his eyes. They were the same smooth pools of obsidian and they were staring at me.